by B. J Daniels
“I was hoping the driver of your pickup last night might be able to help me with the case I’m working on. Are your sons around?”
“I believe they’re out by the corral behind the house working with one of the horses. You’re welcome to go back there. It’s just around the side of the house.” He made a motion with his right hand and started to turn back inside.
The light caught on his hand from the movement.
“Excuse me—I just noticed your ring,” she said as she climbed a couple of steps to take a closer look. Lloyd looked down at his ring and smiled as he held out his hand so she could admire it. “It’s quite unusual.”
“It’s our family crest,” he said with no small amount of pride. “Both of my sons wear one. Rather a family tradition. Are you familiar with the history of the coat of arms?”
“I can’t say I am,” she said, her pulse having jumped when he’d told her that both of his sons also wore the same design of ring.
“Coats of arms were used for centuries to identify a certain family. They were created for the battlefield,” he said, clearly warming to the subject. “Other knights couldn’t tell who was inside of a suit of armor, so they created symbols to attach to the armor. Not to be confused with the crest, which is only a portion of the coat of arms that was worn above the helmet.”
“Fascinating,” she said, taking the steps back down the stairs. “Thank you for the information. Oh, by the way, what are your sons’ names...?” As she went around the side of the house, she called the sheriff on her phone. “Meet me at Lloyd Townsend’s ranch as quickly as you can.” She hung up before he could argue. She figured he’d come racing out here, hoping she hadn’t upset a town favorite.
As she reached the corner of the outside of the house, she spotted the corral. One of the sons was leaning on the corral fence, while the other was inside it with a large bay he was apparently trying to break.
As she joined the one outside the corral, she climbed up on the fence to watch. It was a beautiful bay being green broke by what appeared to be the youngest son, Paul. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cowboy next to her look over.
“You must be John,” she said, turning toward him. His father had described him as the oldest and bigger of the two. “I’m Hitch. Hitch Roberts, state medical examiner.” She held out her hand, he shook it and she went back to watching what was going on in the corral, even though her mind was on the ring on his right hand. “He seems to know what he’s doing.”
She was wondering if she could get any of Rachel Collinwood’s DNA off it after all this time. The lab wouldn’t need much, and with the deep grooves of the ring...
“Paul should know what he’s doing. He’s been at this most of his life. Not that he won’t hit the dirt before the day is out,” John said with a laugh.
What their father hadn’t told her was that Paul was the more handsome of the two. In fact, he was gorgeous, from his muscled lean body to his chisel-cut jawline and the styled stubble covering it. With his hat on, he definitely appeared to be the man behind the wheel of the pickup last night. She could also see how he might turn the head of a married woman—and vice versa.
“You here about a horse?” John Townsend asked.
“Actually, I’m looking for whoever was driving your father’s pickup last night north of town sometime after midnight,” she said.
“Don’t look at me,” John said. “I was in bed by then.”
She noticed the wedding band on his left hand. Married. So he’d have an alibi—if he were telling the truth. “Anyone else drive the truck besides you, your father and your brother, Paul?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, that narrows it down, doesn’t it,” she said and watched as Paul finished putting the saddle on the bay. He led the horse around the corral a few times before he swung up into the saddle. His behind hadn’t touched leather but for a moment before the bay began to buck.
Hitch and John jumped back as the horse tried to knock Paul off by putting him into the corral fence. To his credit, the cowboy hung on longer than she suspected most would have before he and the horse parted ways.
Paul was getting up from the ground and dusting himself off when the sheriff arrived. Hitch went to meet him away from the corral and the two Townsend sons. She could tell Charley was already upset from her call. He was about to get even more upset, she thought. “I need the rings both of the Townsend sons are wearing.”
“What the hell?”
“One of them—I suspect the youngest, Paul—paid a visit to Mrs. Collinwood late last night.”
The sheriff looked both surprised and confused. “Maybe he was just—”
“Giving her his condolences?” she asked.
Charley spurted for a moment before he demanded, “Why in the hell do you want their rings?”
“For evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Murder. You do realize, Sheriff, that this is what the case is about, don’t you? Finding out what really happened at the Collinwood Ranch and why Humphrey is dead.”
He stared at her, openmouthed. “What are you talking about? You think one of the Townsends—”
“I want to bring Paul in for questioning. The governor has given me the authority to do whatever I have to. But you know them, so I’d prefer you do the honors.”
The sheriff let out an angry sigh and stared at his boots for a moment. “If you’re wrong about this—”
“I’ll take full responsibility.”
* * *
RACHEL STOOD IN the middle of the kitchen trying to catch her breath. She’d never had an anxiety attack, but she thought this must be what one felt like as she tried to calm herself.
She hadn’t recognized the number when she’d gotten the call. For a moment, she’d almost not taken it. “Hello?”
The moment she’d heard the voice, she’d snapped, “Shyla, why are you calling me from some number I don’t recognize? I almost didn’t pick up.”
“I borrowed a phone. I’m at the sheriff’s department. I just heard the craziest thing. That medical examiner? She and the sheriff just went out to the Townsend place and confiscated both Paul’s and John’s rings. Supposedly it has something to do with Humphrey’s death.”
That was when all the air in the kitchen felt as if it had been sucked out. She’d had to grab the counter to steady herself. “Why would she care about their rings?”
“Beats me. Apparently,” she said, lowering her voice, “they’re evidence. But evidence of what? Not only that the medical examiner knows that one of the Townsends came out to your place last night. You aren’t still—”
“Of course not.” She tried to catch her breath. “I thought I heard someone. I was in the tub. Why would he come out here?”
“Why do you think? What if he tells them about the two of you...?”
She groaned inwardly, still fighting the lack of oxygen. She felt as if a ton of bricks had fallen on her chest.
“Well, I thought I’d warn you,” Shyla said. “Listen, it sounds like the medical examiner is building a case against you.”
“I know. But she’s wasting her time. There isn’t anything to find.”
“Are you sure about that? Rick thinks it isn’t just the medical examiner but Ford who’s the problem. Did you and Ford have an argument?”
Rachel had to sit down and put her head between her knees. “Tell Rick that everything is fine and for him not to worry about me. You either. I have to go.”
Chapter Eighteen
Paul Townsend looked more amused than anything as he lounged in one of the chairs across from the sheriff’s desk.
“The medical examiner wants to ask you a few questions,” Charley said, sounding apologetic as he leaned back in his chair and made it perfectly clear that none of this was his idea. “I’m sure it wo
n’t take long.”
Hitch tried not to grind her teeth. She’d worked with enough small-town sheriffs that this shouldn’t come as a surprise. “I happened to see your pickup on the road north last night after midnight. Want to tell me where you were coming from?”
The cowboy seemed to lose some of his cockiness for a moment. “Just went for a ride.”
“A ride? No place in particular?”
“Nope.”
“Paul, I should advise you that I witnessed you leaving Rachel Collinwood’s house not long after midnight. I took photos of you and then later of the pickup you were driving.”
He sat up a little and shot an uncomfortable glance at the sheriff as if he expected Charley to bail him out. Hitch gave the sheriff a warning look, daring him to do so. “So what? I wanted to see how she was doing.”
“At midnight? That’s when you decided to stop by?”
Paul looked around the office for a moment. “What’s this about?” He wasn’t as cocky as he’d been earlier.
“How did you get the scrapes on your knuckles?” Hitch asked.
He glanced down at his hands as if surprised to see them. “I don’t know. Working on the ranch. You saw me working today. I get beat up.” He sounded proud of that.
“What is your relationship with Mrs. Collinwood?” Hitch asked.
His eyes widened. “We don’t have a relationship exactly.”
Hitch leaned toward him. “I know you didn’t pull the trigger, but how were you involved in Humphrey Collinwood’s murder? If you tell the truth—”
“Wait! What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, shooting to his feet.
“I’m talking about you doing less time in prison by telling us what really happened out at the ranch the day Humphrey Collinwood died. Otherwise, you will go down with her.”
“No, you got it all wrong. Yes, I went out there last night. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to see if she was all right.” Hitch cocked her head at him and waited. He hung his head. “I’d had something to drink, okay? Maybe too much. I got to thinking about her.”
“How long have the two of you been having an affair?” she asked.
He wagged his head. “It isn’t like that,” he said as he sat back down looking deflated. “It was just a few times.”
“When was this?” Hitch asked.
“A year or so ago. I tried to see her again, but she...”
“Was married.”
“Yeah,” Paul said, lifting his head. “Look, my father doesn’t know.” He glanced at the sheriff. “Does he have to find out?”
“When was the last time you saw her before last night?” Hitch asked.
“A year ago. I called a few times, and when she quit taking my calls, I gave up. But I swear, I just went out there to make sure she was all right, but she didn’t answer the door, so I left.”
“I saw you coming out of the house,” Hitch said.
He nodded. “I know the passcode. Like I said, I was worried about her, so I went inside, but her bedroom door was closed. I knocked on it, thought I heard water running. I got to thinking that she might shoot me, too—you know, thinking I was a burglar or something—so I left.”
“When you were involved with Rachel Collinwood a year ago, did you notice any bruises on her that might have indicated she was being abused?”
He shook his head. “But I could tell she was afraid he would find out, you know?”
Hitch thought she did. “Would you please remove your ring, Mr. Townsend?”
He closed his hand into a fist. “Why?”
“I’d like to take it for evidence,” Hitch said.
Paul looked at the sheriff, then back at her. “You can’t take my stuff without a warrant, right?” he asked, his gaze back on the sheriff.
“If you are unwilling to relinquish it and allow me to take it as possible evidence, then I will have to ask the sheriff here to arrest you for conspiracy to commit murder, at which time your possessions, including your ring, will be taken and used as possible evidence in the case.”
“But I just told you—” The cowboy looked like a trapped animal. “I want a lawyer.”
She looked to the sheriff. “Would you please arrest Mr. Townsend for me, Sheriff?” Her look said, Don’t make me call the governor.
“I’m sorry as hell about this, Paul,” Charley said, lumbering to his feet. “Why don’t you just give her the damned ring?” The cowboy covered the ring with his other hand and shook his head. “She’s going to get it, one way or another,” Charley continued. “You want to spend time behind bars over a stupid ring? Don’t make me have to arrest you.”
Paul angrily jerked off the ring, rose and threw it down on the sheriff’s desk. As Charley reached for it, Hitch beat him to it, using her shirtsleeve to pick it up before bagging it.
“I want that ring back,” Paul said angrily. “And a public apology.”
The sheriff sighed deeply before saying, “You’re free to go now and we’ll make sure at some point that you get your ring back.”
“But let me know if you decide to leave town,” Hitch called after him as the cowboy stormed out and got on his cell phone. “I wonder who he’s calling. Rachel Collinwood to warn her?”
“He’s probably just callin’ for a ride back to the ranch,” Charley said, picking up his keys. “You might recall that he rode with me.” The sheriff shot her an incredulous look as he walked out after Paul.
“I’m going to need his phone records,” Hitch said to his retreating back.
She was anxious to check the ring against the photographs of Rachel’s bruises before sending it to the lab. Back in her hotel room, she pulled out her magnifying glass. She studied first the bruise, then the surface of the ring. Tilting the ring this way and that, she imagined slipping it on her finger.
“If I were to punch someone...” She made the motion with the ring still in the evidence bag and then checked the position of the ring against that of the bruise. The resemblance was there. But would a jury see it? Maybe.
Her real hope, she knew, was what the lab would find. The grooves in the ring’s design were so deep... She had to believe that the evidence would still be there. Unless Paul Townsend was telling the truth.
* * *
“I KNOW. I UNDERSTAND. No, I—” The sheriff pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Lloyd, I totally agree with you. But it’s out of my hands. This came all the way down from the governor. I can’t do anything with that woman.” He listened to the man rant and rave and threaten to sue. “I don’t know why she wanted your sons’ rings. I know they’re valuable. Nothing’s going to happen to them. But at least Paul’s not behind bars. Be happy about that. If she’d had her way...” He pulled the phone away again and looked up to find Ford Cardwell standing in his doorway. “Lloyd, I have to go. Do whatever it is you have to do.” He hung up. “What do you want?” he snapped and then quickly apologized. “Sorry, it’s been one of those days.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Ford said.
“No, actually, I should thank you. What can I do for you?”
“I was looking for Hitch,” Ford said.
Charley made a rude sound that went with the face he pulled. “Well, she isn’t here. She was. I have no idea where she is. Probably starting trouble somewhere else. She won’t rest until she has this whole town up in arms.” He realized Ford was still standing there. “Try the morgue. I know it’s late, but that’s where she’s been hanging out. You know where that is?” He didn’t wait for an answer and quickly gave him directions. Big Timber was small enough that it was pretty easy to get around.
As Ford started to leave, the sheriff took his first good look at the man since he’d appeared in the doorway. “You don’t look good,” Charley said and frowned. “You look like someone punched you in th
e gut. You all right?”
“I’ve been better.”
“You sticking around?”
“I’m not sure.”
Charley nodded. “But you’ll be back for the trial—if it comes to that. Rachel’s going to need your testimony, so you’d best take care of yourself. Without you...”
Yes, without him, Rachel wouldn’t have as strong a case. “Thanks again for the directions.” As he left, the sheriff’s phone rang. He heard him curse and say, “Who wants to chew off my ear now? On top of everything, I’m missing my supper, damn it.”
* * *
SO MUCH HAD happened in the past seventy-two hours. Hitch had gone through all her notes again. She’d stuck her neck out bringing Paul Townsend in. There was pressure on the governor from both Bart Collinwood and Lloyd Townsend now. She had to wind things up and soon.
After pacing her hotel room floor, she knew there was only one way she could unwind. Drive. As she walked out of the hotel, she noticed something flapping in the breeze on her windshield. A piece of folded paper under the wiper of her SUV. She pulled on the extra pair of latex gloves she always kept in a pocket when on a case and carefully removed the typed note.
The message was much like the other one that had been slipped under her hotel room door.
You messed with the wrong people bitch.
Leave town or wish you had.
She bagged the note—just as she had the first one—shaking her head in wonder. It wasn’t the first time she’d received threatening notes in her career. Nor did she suspect it would be the last. Such notes never made her want to leave town. On the contrary, it assured her that she was on the right track—and getting too close to the truth for someone’s comfort.
Like the first note, this one had been written probably on a computer on plain white paper. She doubted it would have any fingerprints on it either, but she would have the lab check.
She’d been planning to go for a drive. It helped her to think. But the note had changed her mind. She decided that the walk to the morgue might be a better choice. Her assumption was that the note had been from Rachel’s accomplice. But it could have just as easily been from someone in the Townsend family. Or even someone who believed Rachel was being treated unfairly. Her friend from college?
